


Of Love and Leukocytes

by Codee21



Series: Let’s Make It Count [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, At least as accurate as it can be when dealing with a radioactive spider DNA?, COVID-19, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major Illness, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Protective Harley Keener, Seizures, Sick Peter Parker, medically accurate, no beta we die like men, trigger for pandemic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:41:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24064489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Codee21/pseuds/Codee21
Summary: “What’s wrong with him?” Harley winced at how small and scared his voice sounded. “I mean, it’s pretty obvious he’s sick. But he’s Spider-Man. He hasn’t even had a cold since he was bitten.”It was Peter. Of course he was going to be okay.He had to be.~~~Or, Peter never gets sick, until he does.**Previous reading of series not required**
Relationships: Harley Keener & Peter Parker & Tony Stark & Stephen Strange, Harley Keener & Tony Stark, Harley Keener/Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Tony Stark/Stephen Strange
Series: Let’s Make It Count [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1257845
Comments: 23
Kudos: 233





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all, it's me, popping out from the hole I've been hiding in for five months! I got this idea while studying and couldn't help but write it, even though I have negative time to do so :D Parkner has become my ride-or-die, but of course there's some IronStrange sprinkled in here too <3
> 
> I already have the next few chapters written, I'm anticipating ~5 total.
> 
> Although this is part of my IronStrange series timeline, it is NOT necessary to read any of it to understand what’s going on!
> 
> Enjoy :)

March 11, 2020 

Peter was swinging through the streets of Queens with a large grin on his face, hidden by the mask he wore. He hadn’t been able to patrol for a full week, between senior spring midterms and things for his fake-turned-real Stark Industries internship, and it just felt **right** to be back in the suit after so long away.

His good mood lasted most of the night, even as he dealt with things that usually annoyed him, like rescuing cats from trees and lampposts. (He loved cats, he really did, but why did they always climb up so high if they didn’t know how to get _down_?)

He felt buoyant. Weightless. Effervescent. He was in the city that he loved, serving the people that -

\- Until a purse-snatcher sneezed right in his face. 

Suddenly that good mood was gone, replaced with horror and disgust. “Ewww! Ughh, seriously?!” 

To the man’s credit, he also looked embarrassed by his body’s spontaneous outburst. “It’s not like I could cover my nose!” he said defensively, jerking his head backward to remind Peter that the man’s hands were webbed behind him.

“Fair point,” the teen conceded. “I **really** wish you’d given me some warning though.” 

The purse-snatcher shrugged sheepishly, and Peter was spared from having to answer further by the arrival of the police. 

“Karen,” he started as he webbed his way back home a few minutes later, “does the suit have any protective properties against bacteria?”

“The mesh over your mouth is fine-woven enough to protect you from most airborne pathogens, Peter,” the AI responded without hesitation. The teen experienced a moment of relief, which disappeared as she added, “Though it is not up to medical standards, and small viral particles may be small enough to pass through. Would you like me to ask the Boss to improve your mask’s integrity?”

“Yeah, please do,” he sighed. “Tell him it’s not priority, though - it’s not like I can get sick with my enhanced immune system. It’s just the principle of it, ya know?” Peter shuddered with a fresh round of revulsion. He was going to take a nice, **long** shower when he got home. 

* * *

March 19, 2020 

Peter awoke from a deep sleep to the sound of knocking, disoriented and somehow still tired despite the absurd length of time he’d spent in bed. His body ached everywhere, and after a few moments of confused discomfort he remembered the exhaustive workout Natasha had put him through yesterday. It shouldn’t have been enough to make him this tired and sore, though - he must really be out of shape. 

Another knock startled him from his thoughts as he began to fade back toward sleep.

“Pete? You in there?” asked a voice from the other side of the door to his room. 

Peter really didn’t feel like talking to anyone right then, but he’d never been able to say no to that voice. 

“Yeah, it’s open,” he responded, words slurring from the tendrils of sleep that still threatened to reclaim him. 

The door opened and Harley entered, taking a moment to process Peter’s position curled up under the covers and sleep-tousled hair with his cat, Leia, curled up beside him. “You forgot, didn’t you?” he asked flatly, knowing full well what the answer would be.

“Forgot what?” asked Peter, sleepy and confused. 

Harley pulled out his phone, unlocked it, and read what was on the screen. “ _Hey, wanna get dinner this weekend?”_ he pitched his voice higher in a poor attempt to mimic Peter’s. _“I haven’t seen you in 5ever.”_ “I miss you too dork,” he said, dropping his voice to his own normal speaking tone. “Heart emoji, smiley face. Saturday good? _Perf, exclamation point exclamation point exclamation point heart-eyes emoji. Meet me at May’s at 5? You can pick the place._ Sounds like a date, darlin’.”

Harley looked up from the phone, fixing his boyfriend with an unimpressed stare. Peter stared back, stomach filling with dread as he scrambled to sit up. Leia glared at him and jumped off the bed, upset that her nap had been disturbed. “Oh god, it’s five already? Babe I’m so, **so** sorry, I didn’t realize I’d been sleeping that long. I’m - wow, please forgive me, I -“ 

“How long did you sleep?” Harley asked, tone laced with curiosity. 

“I went to bed at two last night. Don’t make me math, I just woke up.”

Harley’s eyes widened. “You slept for fifteen hours? Pete, you never manage more than nine.“

“Nat kicked my ass for like, seven hours straight yesterday. And I’m somehow **still** really tired?”

Harley’s gaze softened. “Well then scootch over Parker,” he said, kicking his shoes off. 

Peter laid back down on his side, sliding over in the bed to give Harley room. He sighed in content as the older teen wrapped an arm around his waist from behind, pressing backward into his body to savor the warmth that always radiated from him. 

“Are you mad?” Peter asked hesitantly. “I know I haven’t trained in a while, but I didn’t think it would hit me this hard or I wouldn’t have gone all out yesterday.”

“I could never be mad at you,” Harley replied softly. He removed his hand from Peter’s middle so he could run his fingers through his hair instead. “But are you sure it’s just the training? I don’t know how all your Spidey powers work, can you still get sick like the rest of us mortals?”

Peter denied it instantly. “There’s no way. I haven’t been sick since I was fourteen.”

Harley pressed his hand to his boyfriend’s head for a few seconds before resuming his hair stroking. “You’re burning up, sweetheart.” The concern in his voice was unmistakable now. “Will you come to the Tower with me tomorrow morning? And let Doctor Strange look you over?”

“Harley, I’m fine,” Peter protested. “I’m just tired, really.”

“It would make me feel a whole lot better.”

“Babe -” 

“Please? As payback for standing me up?”

Peter sighed, resigning himself to be poked and prodded and worried over for absolutely no reason. “You fight dirty, Keener. But… okay.”

“Thank you.” Harley’s voice was barely above a whisper, now. “Now go back to sleep, darlin’. I’ll order us pizza later, once you’re more awake.”

“‘Mkay. I love you.”

“Love you too, Pete.”

* * *

  
  


They didn’t end up waiting until morning to go to the Tower.


	2. Chapter 2

Harley stayed the night. May insisted that they were too young and their relationship too new to sleep in the same bed. Usually, he and Peter wouldn’t go behind her back when she was working night shifts. Tonight, though, Harley’s desire to keep his boyfriend close was wholly innocent. All he wanted was to hold Peter while he slept and to be there in case he needed anything during the night.

Because something wasn’t right. Peter had continued to downplay his tiredness, body aches, and uncharacteristic lack of appetite, blowing off Harley’s concerns even as he struggled to stay awake while they re-watched Treasure Planet. But as they settled in for sleep and Peter’s breathing quickly evened out, Harley had trouble pushing down the anxiety that had grown steadily throughout the evening. 

* * *

March 20, 2020

Harley didn’t realize that he’d fallen asleep until he was awakened by a loud thud. It took him a few seconds to register that he was alone in the bed, and that the sheets next to him were still warm from Peter’s feverish body heat. It took him a few more seconds to understand that he should probably turn on the light to see what had created the clamor. “Pete?” he asked, his southern accent thick with sleep, as he fumbled in the darkness for the bedside lamp. “Where’d you go baby? Did Leia knock over something?”

He finally succeeded in locating the little knob and turning it.

The sight that greeted him chased away all of his remaining grogginess. 

Peter was sprawled out on his bedroom floor, face pressed into the unforgiving hardwood. 

He didn’t wake as Harley called a second time, or a third. 

It wasn’t until Harley was on the floor next to him, maneuvering Peter so that his head and upper back rested on his lap that he finally - **finally** \- began to stir. The other boy’s confusion was evident, and as Harley grabbed his wrist he could barely sense the faint flutter of Peter’s pulse against his fingertips. 

“Baby, baby what happened?” he asked frantically, pressing a hand to Peter’s forehead and physically recoiling when he felt how high Peter’s fever had spiked in the past few hours. 

“Tried ta .. stan’ up,” the boy slurred. “Bathroom. ‘M on th’ floor?”

Harley fought to make his voice sound calm. “Yeah, you are darlin’, you fell. It’s okay though.” He ran his hand through Peter’s hair in a way he hoped was soothing, brushing sweaty curls back from his face. “I’m… I’m gonna call Tony, okay?”

“Stay?” asked Peter, a small frown on his face. 

“Doctor Strange is going to portal us to the Tower, okay? So we can get you checked out, figure out how you managed to get sick.”

“No, **stay** ,” Peter repeated, reaching up to still Harley’s movements and intertwine the boy’s fingers with his own. 

“Oh. Yeah, I’ll stay with you darlin’. Always.”

Peter gave a small nod, too out of it to give a verbal reply. 

* * *

“His blood pressure is low.” Stephen grabbed a large needle from a rolling cart and began to tie a blue band around Peter’s right upper arm. “You said this happened when he tried to stand?” 

“Y-yes. I mean, that’s what he said, that he was trying to get out of bed, I just heard a crash and then I turned on the light and he was on the floor, and - “

Tony steadied him with a hand on his shoulder. “Deep breaths, kiddo. It’s gonna be okay.”

Stephen nodded in agreement, but kept his eyes on his shaking hands as he held the uncapped needle at the bend of Peter’s elbow. After a few more moments of staring, he closed his eyes and sighed in frustration. “Tony, can you get Helen in here? I - my hands are shaking too much to get a line started, and I’ve never tried doing one with my powers.”

Tony was already in motion by the time Stephen had finished his sentence. “Her quarters are next door, I’ll be right back.”

Stephen untied the blue band from Peter’s arm, and turned to face Harley. “I know it must have been scary, to wake up and find him like that. Orthostatic hypotension - a low blood pressure when you stand up too fast - isn’t uncommon. But it can be a sign of … something more serious. Especially in someone as healthy as Peter.”

Harley shook his head. “He’s not healthy. He’s had a fever all day, and he’s been really, **really** tired.”

The sorcerer’s face settled into a frown. He turned to the rolling cart again, this time opening a different drawer to remove a corded thermometer. Once the sensor had been placed under Peter’s tongue, Stephen turned to address Harley again. “When did this start?”

“He - he said he was fine … Is it after midnight? He said he was fine on the 18th. He sparred with Nat for hours. But when I came to his apartment around five, on the 19th, he said he’d been asleep for … fourteen hours? Fifteen?”

He looked to Stephen, who nodded for him to continue.

“I spent the rest of the day with him, but he kept falling asleep. His body was aching, he wasn’t hungry - and Peter is **always** hungry.” 

Harley paused before continuing. “What’s wrong with him?” He winced at how small and scared his voice sounded. “I mean, it’s pretty obvious he’s sick. And there’s the ...” Harley waved his hand vaguely, trying to reference the pandemic that was sweeping across the city without saying the words aloud. “But he’s **Spider-Man**. He said he hasn’t even gotten a cold since he was bitten.”

“I’ll ask Helen to do some bloodwork, once she starts his IV,” reassured Stephen, placing a hand on Harley’s shoulder just as Tony had a minute ago. “We’re going to give him some epinephrine, okay? It won’t fix whatever’s going on with him, but it’ll bring his blood pressure up until we figure out what’s wrong. He’ll be okay.”

The boy nodded, trying to swallow around the lump in his throat and the feeling of dread that had settled in his stomach. 

It was Peter. Of course he was going to be okay.

He had to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA: If someone passes out, do NOT elevate their head or torso like Harley does to Peter in this chapter! Fainting is your body's way of making sure your brain gets enough oxygen when your blood pressure is too low to circulate normally. Your body is literally just hitting its own "off" switch, forcing you to go horizontal so the blood can get to your brain more easily. Try to make the person who fainted as comfortable as they can be, and don't let them stay there if they're in a dangerous location (middle of a road with cars, etc) but if they're safe just LET THEM STAY HORIZONTAL.
> 
> Harley doesn't know first aid so it makes sense for him as a character to do what he did, but I needed to add this belated PSA to soothe my own anxiety lol.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmmmmm alphabet soup :) Sorry if this gets a little too science jargon-y, I tried to explain things in plain language. The alphabet soup at the top is just for flavor - it's what Peter's blood labs WOULD look like, but still, flavor.
> 
> Enjoy!

IL-10: LOW

IL-1: **HIGH**

IL-2: HIGH

IL-4: LOW

IL-6: **HIGH**

TGF-beta: LOW

TNF-alpha: **HIGH**

IFN-alpha: HIGH

IFN-beta: HIGH

IFN-gamma: HIGH

CD4+: HIGH

CD8+: HIGH

Treg: LOW

ThI: **HIGH**

ThII: LOW

Ferritin: HIGH

Anti-SARS-CoV-2 IgM: **POSITIVE**

“Different cells in your immune system use substances, what we call cytokines, to communicate with one another,” said Stephen, struggling to find the words to explain the war that was being waged inside Peter’s body. “They use them to coordinate attacks against invaders, and to send signals to the rest of the body so it can make protective changes like a fever.”

“I don’t understand,” said Harley, brow creased as he stared at the piece of paper in his hands. It was covered in numbers and letters and Roman numerals and Greek letters, all apparently measuring things in Peter's blood. “You said his body is making these chemicals to fight a virus. To fight the **corona** virus. Isn’t fighting a good thing?”

He released Peter’s hand, which rested on the sheets of his bed, just long enough to transfer the page of lab results to Doctor Strange. Once he’d handed the paper back he again reached over to cover Peter’s hand with his own.

“Under normal circumstances, yes,” Stephen replied. “But there are some bacteria and viruses that can turn the immune system against itself. They secrete things called ‘superantigens’. When that happens, your white blood cells get tricked into releasing much more of these cytokines than they would otherwise. It’s overkill. Like using a flamethrower against a wasp.”

The attempt at humor earned him the barest hint of a smile from Harley. 

After a moment, Stephen continued. “When that happens, it’s called a cytokine storm. Peter’s immune system is enhanced, just like the rest of him. He hasn’t gotten sick before because it’s managed to fend off every bug he’s come across before it produced any symptoms. He makes antibodies faster, his T cells proliferate faster, his natural killer cells - well, kill better. But this virus slipped through that initial defense system, somehow. And now that it has, and it’s releasing superantigens… Peter’s body is responding strongly, to the point where it’s damaging itself.”

“So Peter’s body is using nuclear bombs to kill the wasp?” asked Harley, struggling to make sense of it all. Biology had never been his strongest subject - he’d always preferred to inspect the microscopes in biology class rather than what was on the glass slides. Stephen’s words made sense on an intellectual level, but deep down Harley just couldn’t **understand**. Peter had been strong and healthy less than two days ago. 

“Exactly,” confirmed Stephen. 

“So what do we do? How do we help him?”

“Defuse the bombs. We’re giving Peter medications to block the most dangerous cytokines.” He inclined his head toward the IV pole next to Peter’s bed, with multiple bags of clear liquids flowing into a tube attached to the boy’s arm.

“And that will just… fix him?”

Stephen sighed. “It should.”

Harley nodded, feeling lightheaded. His gaze focused on Peter, who looked so small and vulnerable, the white hospital sheets a stark contrast to his flushed skin.

“Harley.” Stephen’s hand closed gently over the boy’s wrist, pulling back his attention from the boy in the hospital bed. The sorcerer looked tired. His lips were pressed into a thin line, accentuating the wrinkles at the corners of his mouth. “Tony asked me to sugarcoat things for you, but I don’t think that’s really what’s best for you. Or for Peter.”

“He wanted you to lie?”

“Not to lie -“ interrupted a familiar voice. Harley looked up from Doctor Strange’s kind blue eyes just in time to see Tony walk through the partition in the curtains surrounding Peter’s bed. “Just to … stretch the truth a little.” He turned toward Stephen. “For someone who belongs to a hidden order of Buddhist time-travel wizards, you’re not really great at keeping secrets, are you, sweetheart?” He rolled his eyes, but the familiar gesture held none of its usual sass.

Harley stared up at the man who was his father figure. “Why?” 

“To protect you.”

“I don’t need protecting.”

“I know,” interjected Stephen. “Which is why I’m going to be straightforward.” He looked up at his partner, who sighed in defeat and sank into the armchair across from them.

Harley closed his eyes, bracing himself to hear whatever it was that Tony wanted to hide from him.

“It’s not going to be pretty,” said Stephen gently. “Peter’s metabolism is burning off the medication almost as fast as we can pump it into him.”

“Is he … Will he…?” 

Harley choked on the words, but the sorcerer understood what was being asked all the same. “There… is a chance he will. This kind of reaction is often fatal to people with normal immune systems, and for once Peter’s enhancements are working against him.”

Harley let out a small sob, closing his eyes even more tightly, as if blocking out his vision of the medical bay would make it any less real.

Stephen moved the hand he’d had resting on Harley’s wrist, sliding it up the boy’s arm until it rested comfortingly on his upper back. “We’re not giving up, Harley. Far from it. There’s a strong possibility that enough medication is getting through for it to help him. And Bruce is working with Dr. Cho to modify it so his system doesn’t metabolize it as quickly.”

Harley nodded, took a deep breath, and reluctantly opened his eyes. Peter looked so unnaturally still, and so **alone** , hooked up to tubes and wires and beeping machines. He squeezed his boyfriend’s hand, feeling a profound sense of loss when Peter didn’t squeeze back.

“Where’s May?” he asked, unsure which man to direct the question to. “Did someone call her?”

Tony nodded.

“When will she be here?”

“She had an exposure at work today. Gotta be quarantined for two weeks. We don’t know if there are separate strains of this thing, yet, and when Pete gets through this time we don’t want to take any chances of him getting it again.”

Harley didn’t comment on Tony’s purposeful use of _when_ rather than _if_. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Hits post at 4:30 am on a school night because if I spend another minute looking at this I will go crazy**
> 
> Two actual notes:  
> 1) This chapter references another fic in this series, "Of Shawarma and Supervillains", much more than I'd intended. Oops. You can check it out if you'd like before reading, it's another Parkner-centric IronStrange and ~6k, but I'll briefly summarize the relevant bit in the AN below if you don't want to read. Or skip both, and it'll still probably mostly make sense!  
> 2) The final chapter turned out to be more of an epilogue, and I'll be posting that momentarily as well. Just wanted to give y'all some warning, since it's much shorter than other chapters.
> 
> Enjoy and I'M SORRY!! <3 <3 <3

Harley feared for his boyfriend’s safety on a near-daily basis. It was part of the package, an unavoidable aspect of dating Spider Man. Because of who Peter was and what he did, there would always be dangerous people trying to harm him, and situations where he had to put his own life on the line to save others. And then there had been that _unfortunate incident_ just a few months prior when Harley had been kidnapped, when he’d been petrified that Peter would be harmed trying to get him back.

But this was different. Watching his boyfriend fight supervillains was terrifying, sure, but once the battle was over and Peter was in his arms again, Harley knew that the boy he loved was **safe**. He could breathe a well-earned sigh of relief as he tucked Peter’s head under his chin, could relax and close his eyes in content as his hands rested in the other boy’s curls. He would chastise him for the cuts and bruises and occasional stab wounds that he’d gained, and then Peter would tell him that he was overreacting, and then they would banter, and eventually they would laugh. They would stay like that into the late hours of the night, wrapped up in one another under Tony’s plush grey blanket, or May’s checkered quilt, or the Cloak of Levitation’s warm silken folds, depending on whose couch they’d ended up on.

Now, though, his brain was getting mixed signals. Peter was **there** , Harley was **holding him** , just as he had all those other times. Stephen had permitted him to slide into the hospital bed beside his boyfriend with no protest, instead helping him to rearrange the myriad of tubes and wires, because _“you were going to do it with or without my permission, and at least now I know nothing will get dislodged.”_

Yes, Peter was there in his arms, but the flush of his skin (now starting to gain a yellow tinge, which Stephen said was a sign of liver damage) and unevenness of his breaths were stark reminders that his life was still in danger. 

The boy faded in and out of consciousness in the twenty-four hours following his arrival at the Tower’s Med Bay. And when Pete was awake, he was utterly exhausted, too out of it to do anything besides cling to Harley and reply to the other boy’s _“I love you”_ s with ones of his own. 

There was a war being waged inside Peter - in his veins, in his lungs, in his heart - and there was nothing that Harley could do apart from staying by his side, and giving him what little comfort he could during his intermittent periods of wakefulness. He had never felt so powerless. Even when he’d been kidnapped, Harley had been able to see a way out. He’d been hurt, sure, but Peter had made it through without a scratch and that was all that mattered. 

Harley had largely been able to keep himself from wondering what he would have done in Peter’s place that day. What it must have felt like to discover that the man he loved was missing, and to have no idea where he’d been taken for over twenty-four hours. He knew it had been difficult for Peter, of course - he could feel it with every lingering hug that was just a little too tight, with every frantic look Peter made as his eyes roved around a crowded room before they settled on Harley in relief.

But now, Harley **understood**.

And that understanding crystalized into absolute panic as Peter’s body began to jerk uncontrollably. “Pete? Peter!” There was no response, and the boy continued to convulse. “Doctor Strange, I need you!” he shouted, an unwitting echo of the words Peter had shouted when he found Harley’s unconscious body. A few seconds later, Stephen rounded the corner, with Tony trailing just behind him and Dr. Cho hot on their heels. The monitors were beeping, now, their high-pitched cries drowning out whatever Stephen was trying to say to him. 

No, apparently that sound was the ringing in his own ears, because it continued even after Dr. Cho tapped a button on the largest screen that should have turned the alarms off.

Tony half-pulled him off the bed and he went willingly, too numb to put up a fight. He pulled Harley into his arms and turned him so that Peter’s seizing body was hidden from his view. “Babe, can’t you give him something?” The engineer’s voice was desperate.

Doctor Strange’s voice was just as pained as he replied, “Anything that would stop the seizures would tank his blood pressure. And his liver, I - I don’t know how his metabolism **works**. We can’t risk doing anything that will affect his processing of those cytokine inhibitors.”

Harley tried to break away at that point, as his tears threatened to spill over, but Tony only held him closer. “You don’t need to see this, kid,” he said quietly. 

Harley’s breath hitched and suddenly the tears began to flow. He shook his head, unsure of what he was trying to convey. No, he shouldn’t see Peter like this? No, he wanted to watch Peter seizing when there was nothing he could do to help? No, Peter shouldn’t be going through any of this in the first place? 

Tony just held him tighter. 

* * *

March 21, 2020

The overhead fluorescents were dimmed in the medical bay, giving off just enough light for one to walk without fear of tripping. It gave the scene before him an illusion of tranquility, but Tony knew that Peter could take a turn for the worse at a moment’s notice, and that FRIDAY could bring the lights back up to full power just as fast.

He was resting peacefully, with Harley once again curled up on the bed next to him. The older boy was thankfully asleep as well, the scared, hurt expression he’d been wearing all day momentarily absent. 

Tony knew it would come back, though. 

Hell, he wondered whether he would ever see Harley smile again if Peter...

He felt the need to close his eyes at the intrusive thought, but resisted the urge, instead giving one last, long look at the domestic scene in front of him. Peter had had three seizures over the past few hours, and while his fever had since dropped by a few degrees, Stephen and Helen said it was still very possible that he could have a fourth. Tony wasn’t sure how long this calm would last, and he wanted to burn this image into his memory...

…. in case. 

A pair of strong arms wrapped around his waist from behind. He leaned backward into the familiar touch, tilting his head to rest in the crook of Stephen’s neck. The faint smell of leather-bound books and herbal tea clung to the sorcerers’ robes. “Were you at the Sanctum?” Tony murmured, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb the sleeping boys in the far corner. He felt the tickle of Stephen’s goatee against his temple as he nodded.

“Did you find anything that could help?”

There was no second nod, and Tony felt the pressure around his heart chest clench just a little bit tighter.

“Did you call May?” asked the sorcerer instead.

This time it was Tony’s turn to nod. “She wants us to Facetime her - if...so she can say _goodbye_.” 

His voice broke on the final word, and Stephen pulled him gently into the hallway so that Tony could cry without fear of waking the boys - his **sons**. If Peter died, he would be losing his son in all but blood.

“He’s a fighter, sweetheart,” soothed Stephen as he ran a hand up and down his partner’s back. “He’s gonna keep fighting. And so will we.”

* * *

Stephen and Dr. Cho took shifts that night, waiting with bated breath for a fourth seizure. Tony slept when his boyfriend slept, and held his hand tightly every second he was awake.

Thankfully, there was no fourth seizure.

And as the pink hue of morning sky bled into the crystal blue of afternoon, Peter’s fever finally broke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Of Shawarma and Supervillains" tl;dr Harley got kidnapped and was missing for a little over a day before they got him back. He was unconscious when Peter found him, and Pete called out to Doctor Strange, panicking because he couldn't feel a pulse.


	5. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for coming on this ride with me, folks! <3 Shoutout to GreenPencil on the Parkner Discord for the movie suggestion

_“Flower, gleam and glow,”_ Harley sang softly, combing his fingers through Peter’s brown curls. _“Let your power shine.”_

Peter tilted his head into the touch, letting out a small sigh of content.

_“Make the clock reverse. Bring back what once was mine.”_

Harley’s gaze strayed from the large holographic screen playing _Tangled_ , which Tony had placed at an angle impossible for a normal television so they could watch comfortably from the hospital bed. (The man had all but jumped for joy when Peter had been coherent enough to request the movie.) He looked down at the boy he held in his arms, and was met with a pair of brown eyes looking back up at him. They were warm and **clear** , a reflection of the fact that Peter’s fever was completely gone now.

_“Heal what has been hurt,”_ continued Harley, echoing Rapunzel’s words as she healed Flynn Rider’s hand. _“Change the Fates’ design.”_

He let the hand in Peter’s hair drop to his waist, using it to pull him just a little closer. The other he raised to cup Peter’s face, running his thumb across the other boy’s cheekbone. He frowned as he traced its prominent angles, proof of how much weight the other boy had lost in less than three days. A reminder of how close his body had come to destroying itself.

_“Save what has been lost. Bring back what once was mine.”_

The thought was quickly chased away as Peter turned to kiss his palm. 

The gesture made Harley’s heart ache in the best possible way. 

_“What once was mine.”_

He bent down to press his own lips to Peter’s temple. It was going to be okay. Dr. Strange and Dr. Cho hadn’t said so yet - they were waiting on more blood tests, not wanting to get anyone’s hopes up until they had a new set of those unintelligible numbers and letters to analyze - but a part of Harley just **knew**. 

The boy he loved was safe again, and as they settled in to watch the rest of the movie, he finally felt like he could _breathe_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like what you just read, check out my other works! There's lots of IronStrange and a few more Peter/Parkner. I hope to see you around my page!


End file.
